


Ripples

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Bathtubs, Established Relationship, Hair Washing, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Play Fighting, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Leo calls attention to the gap between expectations and reality more to see the way Elliot smiles at him than out of any hope for change; there’s something thrilling about drawing that smile up at a word, something exciting about having the power to call all Elliot’s attention to him on a breath, and Leo has never been good at resisting Elliot’s temptation." Elliot disregards his role as a noble, and Leo points out the discrepancy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripples

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Claws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claws/gifts).



Elliot has always been terrible at fitting into his role.

It’s hardly as if Leo hasn’t been aware of this. Elliot has never reacted the way he was supposed to to Leo’s barbs, never kept the half-disgusted distance he should have from servants. Even now, when Leo is supposed to be his bodyguard, more often than not it is Elliot who moves first, who throws himself between Leo and the threat of danger.

It’s stupid. It doesn’t make sense, for their roles to invert so much, and Leo might not like social norms but that doesn’t mean he can’t recognize them. He sees how people look at Elliot, cares far more about the whispers about the other boy than the dismissive glances their relationship earns him. But Elliot doesn’t care, no matter how many times Leo points it out to him, and if Elliot doesn’t care then Leo doesn’t either. There’s only one good opinion he wants to maintain, after all. At this point he calls attention to the gap between expectations and reality more to see the way Elliot smiles at him than out of any hope for change; there’s something thrilling about drawing that smile up at a word, something exciting about having the power to call all Elliot’s attention to him on a breath, and Leo has never been good at resisting Elliot’s temptation.

He’s no better at it now than he ever was.

“You’re doing this backwards,” he points out as Elliot opens his cupped palms over Leo’s head to let water cascade over the other’s dark hair. It’s barely enough to dampen the strands but it’s the intent that counts, the motion of Elliot’s hands for Leo’s benefit instead of the other way around. Leo tosses his head, flicks the damp hair away from his face to he can gaze at Elliot’s. “I’m supposed to be the one bathing you.”

“You’re supposed to do what I want you to do,” Elliot retorts. The words come out soaked soft with affection, warm as the gaze lingering at Leo’s eyes, shoulder, lips. “And I want you to let me wash your hair.”

“You’re an idiot,” Leo says, careful with the weight of sincerity on his tongue, and Elliot shoves at his shoulder to push him back into the water. Leo can’t resist the force with the slip of the tub under him; he topples backwards, drops underwater for a moment, and when he comes up he’s breathless and drenched.

“You ought to be nicer to me,” Elliot says while Leo’s eyes are still shut. There are fingers at his hair, the slip of liquid across the top of Leo’s head, and then the faint spicy smell of Elliot’s shampoo as the other boy works the soap into Leo’s hair. Leo keeps his eyes shut -- Elliot is exactly as good at this as he is, which is to say not, and it’s better to forgo vision for the sake of keeping the soap out of his eyes. It’s remarkably pleasant in the dark, with the warm of the water lapping against Leo’s skin and the gentle press of Elliot’s fingers against his scalp, rubbing the soap into his hair and sensation into his skin at once. Elliot is careful with his motions; in that respect, at least, he truly is better suited to this than Leo’s half-bored impatience. Or maybe it’s just that it is Leo he’s touching that is drawing his movement slow and lingering; he keeps going long after what should be sufficient, trailing his fingers down through the ends of dark hair over and over until Leo sighs and splashes water up over his face to rinse the soap off so he can blink at the other boy.

“What are you doing?” he asks, although he doesn’t need to. Elliot’s leaning on the edge of the tub, gazing dreamily at the motion of his fingers through the other’s hair, and it’s ridiculous for him to look so soft but it still brings Leo up short, even if he didn’t expect anything other than this.

“Washing your hair,” Elliot says without looking up at Leo’s face.

Leo scoffs incredulity. “You’re  _playing_  with my hair, not washing it.” Elliot’s sleeve has come unrolled from his elbow, is draping dangerously close to the surface of the water. Leo reaches out to hook his fingers into the cuff, drag it down so it starts wicking up the warm liquid into the fabric. Elliot doesn’t notice for a moment; then the fabric gets heavy enough to drag at his wrist, and his attention finally falls from Leo’s hair to the tug of his fingers instead.

“Hey!” He snatches his arm back, flicking water up at Leo’s face as he moves. Leo grins at the way Elliot’s forehead creases in irritation, drops himself back into the water to rinse the soap out of his hair and dodge the sound of Elliot’s shout at once. He’s half-expecting the way Elliot splashes water over his face, ducks under for a moment to avoid the impact of the wave. When he comes back up to shake his wet-rinsed hair back and blink his eyes clear, Elliot has pulled his hand back, is toying with the wet sleeve of his shirt as he glares at the other.

“You got my sleeve wet,” he says, as if Leo isn’t perfectly aware of this.

Leo shrugs, leans back in a show of unconcern. “So what? It’s just a shirt, you can change it.”

“ _You_  should be the one helping me change,” Elliot snaps, his voice jumping into the petulant noble tone that always makes Leo feel like he’s won a victory.

Leo grins, the expression tugging sharp at his lips as he lifts a foot from the tub to kick gently at Elliot’s shoulder. “You’re the one who wanted to wash my hair for me.”

He’s not expecting Elliot to reach out whip-quick to lock his fingers around his ankle, is doubly not expecting the other to maintain his hold when Leo tugs away and towards the water. There’s a splash, Elliot’s arm dunking into the tub and sending a wave of water up against his face, and for a moment they both go still, Elliot with his eyes shut in an instinctive flinch from the splash and Leo caught in watching the droplets trickling across the strands of Elliot’s hair.

Then “Damn it, Leo!” and Elliot is moving, reaching out for Leo’s shoulder and closing his fingers hard against the other boy’s skin. Leo is expecting Elliot to push him under the water again; he’s not expecting the other to move, leaning in against him and toppling over the edge of the tub and into the water. There’s a wave at the impact, spilling over the edge of the tub and onto the floor, and Leo yelps some startled protest as Elliot’s weight lands across his legs. There’s water everywhere, across the floor and catching in Elliot’s hair, turning the white of his shirt translucent so Leo can make out the lines of his undershirt across his shoulders.

“What are you  _doing_?” he manages as Elliot gets his knees under him and shifts his weight so he’s straddling Leo’s legs instead of crushing them.

“I was already wet,” Elliot says, reaching to slide his fingers in across Leo’s damp shoulders. “I can always change, right?”

“You’re an idiot,” Leo says, calm with complete certainty. “Your pants are ruined.”

“Shut up,” Elliot orders, his voice falling into the lilt of expected obedience. Usually that is the fastest way to bring a retort snapping to Leo’s lips, but he barely has time to open his mouth this time before Elliot is leaning in against him, shoving him back against the back of the tub and pressing his mouth to Leo’s to catch the sound on his tongue. His lips are warmer than the water, warmer even than the friction of his hands dragging across Leo’s back, and Leo shuts his eyes instead of protesting, reaches up to tangle his wet hands into the damp-sticky hair at the back of Elliot’s neck. Elliot parts his lips, opens his mouth wider in invitation, and Leo licks against him, catches the other’s heat onto his tongue and tugs until he’s leaning back against the tub with Elliot’s weight resting against him. Elliot’s hands are up against his hair, the other’s fingers tangling knots into the wet strands, but Leo doesn’t pull him away; it’s worth it for the press of Elliot’s fingers against his scalp and the soft of Elliot’s hair on his palms.

It’s Elliot who rocks in closer as Leo starts to go hard, Elliot who pulls away to take a shivering inhale as he slides forward an inch to press them closer. The water’s too high in the tub, they can barely move without sending another splash over the floor, but Leo doesn’t care and Elliot doesn’t look like he does either. He doesn’t even voice the shape of a protest when Leo lets one of his hands go, dips it under the water so he can push the button of Elliot’s pants loose. It’s harder to manage with the fabric gone heavy and waterlogged, but then it’s coming free, the zipper following, and Elliot’s arching forward to meet Leo’s fingers before the other has pulled the edge of white shirt loose. Elliot bumps himself in against Leo’s knuckles, the water splashing against them from the movement, and when Elliot whines it’s against Leo’s mouth, encouragement to speed the motion of Leo’s fingers at his clothes.

“We’re going to make a mess,” Leo points out, though he’s not pulling his hand away. Elliot’s shirt comes loose, the trailing edges floating through the water like a veil, and Leo drags his fingernails in against Elliot’s stomach, draws a shudder of reaction from the other boy before he fits his fingers into a gentle hold on his length instead. Elliot’s head is ducked, his eyes half-shut and mouth open like an invitation, but Leo leans back instead of in, watches the way his mouth works on half-formed words as Leo’s fingers tighten in around him. Just because it’s easy to shatter Elliot’s composure doesn’t diminish the pleasure of it, the heat of appreciation enough that Leo’s not anxious for reciprocation.

Elliot catches up after a moment anyway. Leo is sliding his thumb up, feeling out the shape of the other boy against his palm since the drape of the shirt is hiding his vision, when Elliot’s hand tightens at his shoulder, Elliot’s fingers tug free of his hair and reach down under the surface of the water.

“Wait.” Leo can see the attention in the set of his mouth, the attempt at resolution tight across his lips even as his breathing catches fast under the stroke of the other boy’s hand. “This isn’t fair.” His fingers trail across Leo’s hip, touch oddly tentative even now, even after all this time, and Leo laughs sharp and unsurprised.

“Don’t be stupid,” and he leans in, sits up and into Elliot’s space. The other tips back, instinct overriding conscious thought, and Leo lets his hold go to shove Elliot’s hand away. It’s only for a moment, barely long enough for Elliot’s expression to fall into confused protest; then Leo’s tipping his hips up, arching in close to the other and when he closes his hand to draw his own cock in to press against the other’s Elliot has to throw his hand out to brace himself on the edge of the tub instead.

“ _Leo_ ,” he manages, a weird choked sound, and Leo huffs a laugh around the surge of heat in his veins.

“This is better,” he says rather than asks, strokes up over them at once. Elliot’s shoulders curl in, bring his forehead in to drop heavy at Leo’s, and Leo reaches for Elliot’s hip with his free hand to hold him in place. He can’t move much, with Elliot across his lap as he is, but he can rock his hips up an inch, thrust up into his hand to match the slide of his fingers, and the rush of sensation is more than enough to counteract any concern at the way the water splashes off the sides of the tub at the movement. There’s hardly enough space for Leo to move himself, and none at all for Elliot to manage, but Leo can feel the way tension collects against Elliot’s spine, can hear the way the other’s breathing starts to catch as Leo keeps stroking over them. The water’s spilling over the edge of the tub, Leo’s fingers are catching against the trailing ends of Elliot’s shirt, and Elliot is gasping, huge desperate breaths at Leo’s shoulder as the waves of heat under Leo’s skin surge higher than the radiance of the water.

Elliot lets the tub go, arches in close against Leo’s chest; his hands are digging into Leo’s shoulders, bruising fingerprints against the other’s collarbones, but it doesn’t matter anymore than the water splashing out of the tub matters. What matters is the way he’s shivering himself pliant, the way his breathing is forming into half-voiced pleas, and then Leo jerks up sharply over them and Elliot melts against him. Leo can feel the ripples of pleasure washing through the other, the little involuntary movements where they’re pressed together, and he can’t breathe, it’s like his lungs are filled with heat instead of air and he can’t take a breath. Elliot is gasping his name over and over, “ _Leo_ ” tearing from his throat in counterpoint to the tremors of his orgasm, and Leo has to let him go, has to close his fingers on himself and jerk up with desperate speed. He’s not expecting Elliot’s hand to drop from his shoulder to tangle the other boy’s fingers with his own, but he doesn’t care; the extra friction is welcome, the off-rhythm sensation more help than a hindrance. In the end it’s Elliot’s hand that does it, the slipping pressure of his fingers dragging over the head of Leo’s cock that sends heat flashing into pleasure in his veins. Leo jerks, thrusts up in a last helpless reflex, and then he’s coming under their fingers, gasping breathlessly into Elliot’s shoulder.

Leo collapses boneless against the back of the tub while aftershocks are still shivering under his skin, his hold sliding loose and exhausted, and Elliot follows him, pressing his mouth in against the curve of Leo’s neck and breathing against the damp of his hair. After a moment Leo lifts an arm, lets the weight of it fall around Elliot’s waist in some half-formed approximation of an embrace.

“You’re dirtier than when we started,” he points out, tipping his head back to gaze at the ceiling.

Elliot shoves at his hip, his knuckles digging in against Leo’s side and knocking the breath out of him for a moment. “Shut up,” he snaps, his breath warm at Leo’s neck.

For once, Leo listens. They’ll have to get out eventually, strip Elliot of his ruined clothes and work the knots out of his own hair, but for now the water is warm, and Elliot is warmer, and Leo shuts his eyes and lets the heat soak into him.


End file.
